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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292178">Suture</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara'>Odaigahara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>discord, i'm howling at the moon [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindness, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Gift Fic, How the hell do I tag this?, Imagination, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Revelations, Symbiotic Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:14:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment Janus wondered if he could count on the other Sides noticing his absence, but he dismissed it a second later. The other Sides’ teamwork was nothing to write home about when they were deliberating over dinner; who knew how long a rescue would take, if Patton could even muster them for an attempt. </p><p>Patton was the only one who’d give Janus the time of day, and he was paying for it with Logan and Roman’s half-protective scorn. </p><p>Janus had to find a way to fix that, and soon. Virgil was set against him, Logan too hurt to listen with an open mind, but perhaps if Janus could find a crack in Roman’s resolve, make him soften a little so the others would follow—</p><p>“What in Aphrodite’s name,” someone— a very familiar someone— muttered, and Janus froze in surprise. “Is that a— oh.” His voice went flat. “Deceit. I suppose I should be surprised you didn’t manage to slither out of this, too. Is it frightening, being confronted by the consequences of your own actions? I can’t imagine it’s ever happened before.”<br/>*</p><p><b>Or:</b> Janus and Roman are captured in the Imagination. Circumstances force some unfortunate truths to come to light.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>discord, i'm howling at the moon [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>TSS Fanworks Collective Discord Secret Santa</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Suture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/parallelmonsoon/gifts">parallelmonsoon</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW's at end notes!</p><p>A secret santa gift for parallelmonsoon, Supreme Overlord of the TSS Fanworks Collective, Death Who Shepherds The Universe, and Janus fic connoisseur. I hope it meets expectations :D</p><p>Many thanks to alicat54c and LostyK for beta reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Air hit Janus’s face, cool and diffuse like the bottom of a crypt. On its heels came a soft scraping noise, the <em> swish </em> of something solid passing by with momentum. It was not a sound Janus had heard before, which made it immediately suspicious— though of course what was <em> more </em> suspicious was that he didn’t hear anything else. No breathing, no stifled cackles, no impatient shifting of weight that scuffed the stone floor. </p><p>No difference between opening and closing his eyes, either. The room stayed pitch black either way.</p><p>His head pounded. When he dragged himself upright there was a pain in his ribs so sharp it left him gasping, forcing himself still so he wouldn’t agitate it further. </p><p>Fantastic. Just what he’d wanted for the day. If Thomas ever saw a shooting star, Janus would be sure to wish for exactly this: a mystery in an unfamiliar location, all alone, with no clues to ease the way. An escape room of sorts, but minus every interesting attribute. </p><p>There was a warmth in his clothes that felt uncomfortably like bleeding. He had no memory of what could have caused it.</p><p>For a moment Janus wondered if he could count on the other Sides noticing his absence, but he dismissed it a second later. The other Sides’ teamwork was nothing to write home about when they were deliberating over <em> dinner </em> ; who knew how long a rescue would take, if Patton could even muster them for an attempt. It wasn’t like <em> Remus </em> was going to take Janus’s side, now that Thomas knew Janus’s name.</p><p>Patton was the only one who’d give Janus the time of day, and he was paying for it with Logan and Roman’s half-protective scorn. Janus couldn’t be sure Virgil was even talking to the other Side. </p><p>Janus had to find a way to fix that, and soon. Virgil was set against him, Logan too hurt to listen with an open mind, but perhaps if Janus could find a crack in Roman’s resolve, make him soften a little so the others would follow—</p><p>“What in Aphrodite’s name,” someone— a very <em> familiar </em> someone— muttered, and Janus froze in surprise. “Is that a— oh.” His voice went flat. “Deceit. I suppose I should be surprised you didn’t manage to slither out of this, too. Is it frightening, being confronted by the consequences of your own actions? I can’t imagine it’s ever happened before.”</p><p>Janus carefully didn’t think of Virgil. “Not accusing me of manufacturing the situation entirely? My, Roman. A stranger could almost think you liked me.”</p><p>”The only strangers here are my villagers,” Roman snapped, “and they would never expect a prince such as <em> I </em> to associate with the likes of a slimy, lying snake like you.” He shifted as he spoke, voice coming closer, then cursed and jumped back. “I can’t believe this,” he sighed. “Outwitted by manticore-chimeras, at my level of experience! Your cowardice and treachery must have distracted me more than I thought.”</p><p>Janus rolled his eyes, though Roman surely couldn’t see it. “Oh, of <em> course</em>. There can’t possibly be any explanation with your incompetence as a factor.</p><p>“Don’t try me, villain.” More movement; the cold grating swoop continued like clockwork. “Do you even do anything besides scheme and cause problems? If I’d been alone on this journey, I would have been fine.”</p><p>“Roman,” Janus drawled to hide his confusion, “are you lying to my face right now? I’m nearly proud.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.” Roman didn’t offer any more information on how they’d gotten there, which was somewhat concerning considering how Janus had <em> no idea</em>. “I think you owe me an explanation, at least, since we’re stuck down here until sunrise.” He paused, then added, “That’s when evil enchantments lose some of their power, you see. We’ll be able to climb out without being yeeted back down.”</p><p>“Thanks ever so much for the exposition.” Janus tilted his head up, straining to catch a hint of starlight, but the world stayed stubbornly dark. The motion tugged something in his chest, twisting it like a loose sinew until his eyes were teary with pain. <em> Shit</em>. “Would you happen to have any more?”</p><p>“I’m the one who’s asking the questions,” Roman bit out. “That’s what you’ve reduced me to with this little charade-- sitting around in an oubliette talking to an antagonist when I could be rewatching <em> Moana</em>.”</p><p>“I love how you keep mentioning questions without telling me what they are,” Janus snapped. “Am I meant to <em> guess? </em> Because if so, my first assumption is that you’re wanting fashion tips, and my first suggestion is choosing anything that doesn’t make you look like a discount nutcracker at Hobby Lobby.”</p><p>Roman didn’t respond for a long moment. </p><p>Finally, he said, quieter, “It really <em> was </em> all just to flatter me, wasn’t it.”</p><p>“You’ll have to be more specific.”</p><p>“The <em> compliments</em>,” Roman hissed. “The <em> agreeing </em> with me, and taking my side, and doing things so I’d play along. The theatre when Thomas skipped out on Joan. Making me the judge for the wedding trial. You were manipulating me all along."</p><p>“Did you expect any different?” Janus asked, trying for a smirk. “I go after what Thomas wants. I <em> totally </em> would’ve been smart to pass up a chance to align myself with what his hopes and dreams wanted.”</p><p>“You only went after what <em> you </em> wanted,” Roman insisted. </p><p>Janus barked out a laugh. “Is that so?” he demanded. “So you didn’t want to go to the audition, is that it? You didn’t want the chance of a lifetime? Didn’t want to keep Thomas out of a fight with a friend that resulted from your own pursuit of romance? Don’t say such hilarious things, I’m almost crying. That’s the worst lie I’ve heard since <em> Logic </em> insisted he didn’t have feelings.”</p><p>“Leave Logan <em> out </em> of this,” Roman snarled. Janus’s mocking smile fell. “You admit that you were only manipulating me, then? That you didn’t mean any of it? That it was a means to an end?”</p><p>“Of course it was a means to an end,” Janus said, and sighed. “Every interaction is a manipulation. We want others to look upon us a certain way, so we do our best to act accordingly. I wanted you to look at me as an ally, so I made my company beneficial to you. You really <em> don’t </em> get enough compliments for your work, Roman.”</p><p>“You flattered me so I’d side with you against my family and Thomas’s best interests,” Roman gritted out. “So I’d be a pawn in your little game. Well, I’m not a pawn, Fibber on the Roof. I’m a knight.”</p><p>“Good <em> knight </em> to you, then,” Janus said, rolling his eyes, and curled up against the cold wall at his back. “<em>Don’t </em> wake me when it’s morning, won’t you?”</p><p>“I’m rather certain I’d prefer leaving you to rot,” Roman snapped, but the lie was clear; he would never risk his so-called heroism with a villainous act. Janus closed his eyes, uselessly, and did his best to fall asleep.</p><p>*</p><p>The swish of the whatever-it-was followed him into his dreams. Or not-dreams, since dreams were Thomas’s to have-- sub-dreams, maybe, or dreams within dreams. Microdreams, for the microcosm of a complete human being that Janus represented. </p><p>He drifted, and settled into the nearest lies to rest and watch. </p><p>Janus had never fallen asleep in the Imagination before. In daylight, it was beautiful. At night, when the stage lights were off and the audience had vacated, it was <em> eerie </em>. The spaces between the set pieces ate up the floors and corners with long shadows, the gears that kept the Imagination turning growing louder with every tick of the clock. Their grinding cut into his thoughts.</p><p>The bundle of bitterness and contradictions that was Janus found himself amidst the set pieces. Wood mechanisms creaked and waved carved beasts overhead; metal beams whirred and spun, generating climates and twisting seeds to buds to full-petaled blooms; shadows flitted overhead as clouds flew by on wires, the floor moving beneath him like a carousel, the clove-and-sawdust villagers creeping by on prelaid tracks.</p><p>Janus followed them, emboldened by his temporary liminality, and saw:</p><p>A blacksmith, with layers of orange and yellow fabric blown by invisible fans to make up her forge. A knight with a wooden sword, painted armor, a dyed feather plume. A horse made of metal and lacquered white and gold; a deer with plaster antlers; a toddler with buttons for eyes and plush doll’s hands, reaching up to a nonexistent adult. Trees and rocks and styrofoam snow. Glass eyeballs, oiled elbow joints, felt lions’ manes. </p><p>The detail was astounding. If Janus’s dreamself had had lungs, he would have been breathless.</p><p>Roman had always been such an <em> artist. </em></p><p>The rote motions continued as he wandered. He caught sight of a scorpion tail and trailed it, spurred by curiosity at his inexplicable unease, and came across a construct larger than a draft horse.</p><p>It felt different than the others, somehow. Janus squinted, moving closer, and saw with a jolt that its claws and muzzle were drenched with blood.</p><p>Oh. That-- <em> that was-- </em></p><p>Bile welled in his mouth. Janus recoiled, braiding in on himself, suddenly so alert for a threat that it felt like being drenched in lava. God, what-- why was he, what was <em> different-- </em> he forced himself to examine the thing more closely, slithering forward, tensed at any moment to flee. The construct was on its own set of tracks, though like all the trails it blurred when he observed it for too long. </p><p>For heavens’ sake, he was only <em> dreaming</em>. </p><p>The creature had the look of a taxidermist’s feverish nightmare. Its face was a lion’s, if a lion had drunkenly driven into a concrete boundary at eighty miles per hour and splintered most of its jaw back into its brain; its body had the brown shoulders and haunches of a goat, though the front legs ended in claws and the back in cloven hooves; its tail was a porcupine’s, covered in spines, but with a wicked crescent tip that more greatly resembled a scorpion’s.</p><p>And the blood, worst of all, unavoidable, was <em> everywhere </em>. Old, crusted under the seams of the creature’s fur, caught between its toes like manure-- newly-dried, staining the claws and the flat toothsharp mouth and splattered up to its shoulders-- fresh and reeking, splashed carelessly through its mane and dripping from its tail like it had come back from a kill--</p><p>The mechanisms below the beast creaked into movement, drawing its gaunt crimson face to the side to stare in Janus’s eyes. He froze, drawing his lips back in a snarl, felt his crooked staff fall into his hands-- and it shifted away, following its track like all its brothers, dropping behind it a streak of blood like a trailing thread.</p><p>Janus opened his eyes to nothing, so cold he swore he tasted his breath condensing at his lips. The stone floors of the cell felt rough with frost. He drew his capelet off his shoulders and put it beneath him, mindful of the inexorable swoop of the thing between him and Roman, and curled in as tight as he could to go to sleep.</p><p>The strain made his chest feel like being stabbed with a twisted knife. He might have cried, but not even Thomas could ever get him to admit it.</p><p>*</p><p>Scarcely a moment after Janus closed his eyes, a shoe hit him in the shoulder. He choked back a curse-- <em> damn </em> Roman, that had <em> hurt-- </em> and Roman called from across the cell, “Throw that back, would you? It’s practically couture.”</p><p>“I think I’ll keep it, actually,” Janus hissed. “Since you’ve so kindly offered it to me.”</p><p>“For what, your third leg?” Roman scoffed. “You’ve already got two too many for the reptile you claim to be.”</p><p>“Well that’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it? After all, for a prince you’re <em> remarkably </em> ungracious,” Janus snapped, and felt a surge of vindication at Roman’s sudden silence. He rooted for the boot and tossed it, only to hear a clang and get a boot to the head. “Ow-- I mean, <em> not </em> ow, that didn’t hurt at-- oh, fuck me.”</p><p>Roman sniggered. “You have to <em> time </em> it, Strawberry Slimeade.”</p><p>Cold suspicion trickled down Janus’s spine. He tore his hand from his face and said, forcibly even, “Of course, Roman. How dare I try to avoid getting your amazingly fashionable boot hit by the edge.”</p><p>“Try watching it,” Roman suggested. <em> Fuck</em>. “Or perhaps lying to it in an attempt to convince it to stop moving on its own. Isn’t that how you solve all your problems?”</p><p>“I’m increasingly tempted to solve them with extreme violence,” Janus said, scowling. “But oh, my mistake, that’s <em> your </em> method! The tried and true problem-solving technique of the criminally dense. You know, Prince, I sometimes wonder if you can tell which shoe goes on which foot in the morning.”</p><p>“Pfft, that’s easy. All I have to do is label them.” Janus took a moment to seethe in incredulity. “Bet you never thought about that, Barbie Lie-land Princess.”</p><p>Oh, that was it. “Why, my prince,” Janus gasped. “I never knew you thought of me that way.” He scooped up the boot and tossed it lower, praying for luck, and was rewarded with a sharp <em> ow! </em> “Shall we kiss now, to mark the moment?”</p><p>“Wha-- you-- no!” Roman blurted in what sounded like rising indignation. “And that is not what I meant, you-- you-- ice-hearted irritation of an ideal-less imitator!”</p><p>
  <em> “Pardon?” </em>
</p><p>“Alliteration,” Roman said savagely, and scuffed the ground. Janus took a moment to realize he was putting his shoe back on. “Also, Magic of <em> Pega-Suspicious </em>, it’s morning. The sun has risen over my glorious kingdom. Do you know what that means?”</p><p>“Of course not. It’s not like you told me last night or anything.”</p><p>“Don’t try to trick me with your recollection of events,” Roman said. “I’m referring to the decrease in the power of the manticore-chimeras <em> themselves</em>. They won’t find fighting me so easy in the light of day.”</p><p>“Inserting cheat codes into your own creations?” Janus asked, still reasonably irritated by having a boot thrown at his face. “Quite the underhanded move. I’m impressed.”</p><p>“If I want to fight them properly, I come at night,” said Roman, and that was-- true, but with a bitterness to it like curdled milk. Janus frowned. “Can you climb?”</p><p>“It’s likely,” Janus said, the kind of answer that could be a lie either way. He amused himself with imagining Roman’s face at the words. Then he remembered that Roman could <em> see</em>, and probably had the idea that Janus knew how far they’d be climbing and was extrapolating from there, and his mood soured. “Please <em> do </em> expect me to excel as an athlete, though.”</p><p>“Oh, please, as if I’d expect greatness from--”</p><p>Something scraped above them. Roman cursed, making Janus pause, and the stone above them grated and seemed to settle. For a long minute, no one spoke.</p><p>“Let me hazard a guess,” Janus drawled at last. “Your plan relied on being able to push that cover <em> aside?” </em></p><p>“There’s sunlight through the cracks! I wasn’t wrong about that,” Roman insisted. “But yes, fine, it seems like we’re blocked off. No thanks to <em> you</em>.”</p><p>“Am I meant to be offended by that? What are you even blaming me for?”</p><p>“You <em> know </em> what,” Roman grumbled, which was immensely helpful considering how Janus <em> didn’t</em>. “Just wait, Dead Or A-Lie. They’ll move off it eventually.”</p><p>“Unless they’ve anticipated our incredibly well thought out escape attempt.”</p><p>“Manticore chimeras are restless,” Roman said, again with that bittertrue tone. “They’ll move. The hunt isn’t nearly as fun if we don’t escape so they can chase.”</p><p>“And these are the creatures you keep in your perfect kingdom?” Janus asked incredulously. “Even your brother--”</p><p><em> “Don’t,” </em> Roman snarled, low. “Every kingdom needs beasts and villains. It’s how heroes earn the name. And if you don’t shut up, Deceit, I may be inclined to treat <em> you </em> as I would them.”</p><p>And that would be different <em> how? </em></p><p>“I’d love to see you try,” Janus hissed. </p><p>Ironically, it had the benefit of being true.</p><p>Roman was quiet after that, leaving Janus to focus on more insistent problems: his blindness, yes, and the pain in his chest, but beyond that a faint ringing in his ears that sometimes descended into incomprehensible mumbling. Not concerning at <em> all, </em>and definitely not a sign of brain damage and/or delirium. Everything was fine, and he had a bridge to sell a discerning buyer for cheap.</p><p>… Damn it, Janus had to know. “Roman,” he said after thirty minutes of awkward, resentful silence, pulling his focus from Thomas’s relentless attempts at cheer on Twitter. “Were you cold last night?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If you’re at a loss for how to answer, a yes or no would suffice.”</p><p>He heard a shuffling sound, and then: “I’m not so frail that <em> this </em> feels cold,” Roman said indignantly, “even if Thomas does live in Florida.”</p><p>The confirmation chilled Janus more than the frost had. More than the <em> not</em>-frost had, rather. What proof had he had of it, except a negligible roughness on the stone and the wet, persistent chill? As much proof as he had of the mumbling, really. As the constant, low-grade headache. As his complete lack of memory of getting into this situation. </p><p>All of a sudden his chest felt terribly tight. What had he <em> done? </em> What had <em> Roman </em> done? He didn’t expect that it was bad enough to harm Thomas, but--</p><p>Janus moved forward without meaning to, suddenly terrified that Roman was a hallucination, too, and he’d really been left alone after doing something <em> stupid </em>that Roman could have survived without anyway. “Are you--”</p><p>The blow put him on the ground before he could register it-- how <em> could </em> he have registered it, without seeing it coming-- and his nose exploded with pain. Janus spat in surprise and jerked back against the wall, curling his legs up and baring his teeth, but before he could demand to know what the <em> hell </em>that was for, Roman shrilled, “What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>“What am I doing?” Janus shrieked. “You’re the one who <em> punched me--” </em></p><p>“You almost decapitated yourself! Are you secretly a hydra, where one head lost grows two in its place? Are you <em> blind?” </em></p><p>“Consider this a cordial invitation to take a damn guess,” Janus snapped, trying to calm his breathing so his chest would stop feeling like it had been filled with knives. “Which of those options seems more likely? Flip a coin, if you’re too nervous to come up with a straight answer, but don’t expect me to respect you for it if you do.”</p><p>A pause. Roman choked out, “You-- you’re <em> actually </em> blind? You weren’t blind <em> before.” </em></p><p>“No, really,” Janus hissed. God, his head hurt. Was his nose bleeding? “I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>“But-- but <em> why?” </em></p><p>A lie presented itself before Janus had to consider telling the truth, so relieving he actually exhaled. “Shedding,” he said, and could almost smell the absolute horseshit he was spouting. “It makes it hard to see, when it gets going. Quite embarrassing. I’m ashamed to be caught outside my room in this state.”</p><p>“<em>Wha </em> ,” Roman blurted. “You don’t shed. There’s no way you shed. You’d lose all your <em> skin!” </em></p><p>“I shove it to the back of my closet with all the other skeletons.”</p><p>“We never <em> see </em> you without skin--”</p><p>“How would you know?” Janus demanded, keeping a straight face. The effort was more than he’d anticipated. He wished he could have seen Roman’s <em> expression</em>. “I’m a consummate shapeshifter, as I’m sure you know.”</p><p>“And you never thought to mention sudden blindness before now?”</p><p>“I didn’t realize it wasn’t just dark here until recently,” Janus admitted. “Is that really a blade swinging between us? I thought Edgar Allen Poe was <em> Virgil’s </em> style.”</p><p>“I’m allowed a modicum of outside inspiration,” Roman huffed. “A good creator doesn’t exist in a vacuum, after all. I’d think you would know that, what with the constant <em> lying </em> and all.”</p><p>Janus barked out a laugh. “Is that what you think? Oh, <em> Roman</em>. The best liars aren’t creative at all. You trip yourself up if you are-- all unnecessary details and nerves, it’s lovely. A good lie is believable and perfectly boring. No one should give it a second glance.”</p><p>“That sounds incredibly dull,” Roman snipped. “One wonders how you get out of bed in the morning, with so little whimsy to aid you.”</p><p>“I focus on more important things, such as actually doing my job,” Janus said, to sudden, cold silence. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit a sore spot?”</p><p>“I suppose I’ll have to take solace in how Thomas appreciates when I do mine,” Roman said, brittle, “as opposed to screaming whenever I appear.”</p><p>Janus flinched<em>. </em>  “Careful, Roman. You’re coming close to crossing the line into <em> cruelty</em>.”</p><p>“At least I’m only close, instead of dancing across it every which way and insisting that actually this time it was right, and not manipulation at <em> all--” </em></p><p>“I don’t sound like that!”</p><p>“Oh, don’t you, Lied Bund-- <em> ow!” </em></p><p>Worry electrified Janus, so close on the heels of rage it gave him whiplash. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“Don’t act like you care, Lied <em> Bundy</em>. Ha, <em> burn</em>.” Scuffling. “Well, the good news is I still have all my toes.”</p><p>“I’m so glad,” Janus drawled, and felt the rest of his frustrated anger drain away. Funny how the return of Roman’s insulting disdain could feel comforting. “And the bad news?”</p><p>“One of my favorite boots is now missing its tip,” Roman announced. Janus hid a snicker. “Like it’s been circumcised! Let’s pretend I never said that.” </p><p>The even more awkward silence trailed on, before Roman said, apparently unable to stand it, “They’re still up there. Why don’t we tell stories to pass the time?”</p><p>“After I just finished telling you how uncreative I am? I’ve always thought you were something of an airhead, if a charming and handsome one, but I never took you for <em> forgetful</em>.”</p><p>Roman huffed a laugh. It sounded more rueful than mocking; Janus’s hackles raised. “You’re a terrible liar,” Creativity said. “A flatterer, yes, but when it comes to impersonations, I don’t believe there’s been one time we haven’t sniffed you out.”</p><p>Janus felt that tiny, hopeful thing at the core of him die back at those words. Not that he’d ever wanted Roman’s regard, either as a Side or as one of the most devoted actors of the Mindscape, but-- it was difficult not to remind him that a successful impersonation would never have been <em> sniffed out </em>at all.</p><p>Pathetic. <em> Look at me, pay attention to me, tell me I’m doing well!  </em></p><p>Those sentiments were barely tolerable coming from <em> Patton</em>. </p><p>“Fine.” He bit off each syllable hard as diamond. Janus hated himself for what he was about to do-- what was the point of it, dancing close to the edge, why wave around implications unless you wanted someone to <em> ask </em> and God, was he <em> that </em>pitiful-- but he hated a lot of what he did, really. It was no additional hardship. “You want a story, Prince Roman? Or would you rather go first?”</p><p>“No, no, go ahead,” Roman said, and Janus imagined him waving a hand. “<em>Enthrall </em> me.”</p><p>Fine<em>. </em></p><p>“Once upon a time,” Janus said savagely, “there was a man who shined so brightly that it <em> burned </em> him from the inside out.”</p><p>The rhythm of the story was easy from there. </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> Once upon a time-- this man lived in a constant frenzy. At first he was manageable, incandescent and joyous and oh-so-loved, but soon enough he grew unpredictable. Untouchable. All good things must come to an end, after all, and this man was, like a star from the heavens, far too dangerous to let stay on Earth. He charred the world around him black, and seared himself in the process. He was young, and he never slept. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had friends, but they were afraid of him. Sometimes he was humble and confident and kind; other times he was cruel and unpredictable and viciously proud, lashing out with his flames at the slightest provocation. And he knew this, poor lost soul that he was, so he decided to fix it. </em>
</p><p><em> He went into a high tower, so high that no one could think to reach him, and pulled himself apart to see how he worked. He saw his cruelty and pride, his confidence and kindness, and thought to separate them so that they couldn’t feed into each other, to become a binary star instead of one-- don’t stop me, Roman, don’t you </em> dare-- <em> but he was young and foolish, and gave of himself unevenly. One half gained confidence and cruelty and wild unpredictability. The other gained kindness and pride, too little, too fragile, and when they were separated, the first went on his way while the other straggled gasping behind. The slightest thing hurt this weaker half, you see. The littlest touch could shatter him apart, for he’d been left with a burden the other had no interest in bearing. It </em> crushed <em> him. </em></p><p><em> Our protagonist-- please </em> do <em> lecture me about story structure, haven’t you read Grimm’s Fairy Tales-- enters the tale here. He was smaller, and had never known a time before the binary star. He followed the first one’s trail until he found the second, and saw the gaping wound left behind-- the shattered parts that refused to heal, because every time they tried they were crushed again, until the bones were powder and the pink muscle so much bloody pulp. He ached. He was nothing, you see, but here was a thing to do and he was a person to do it, so he set about fixing what he could, and found that it wasn’t enough. The second half couldn’t survive on its own, after all-- but its burden had to be borne.  </em></p><p><em> There was a solution, though, once our </em> genius <em> protagonist thought it over. Parts of the weaker half had been irreversibly destroyed. It would always be weaker, but since it was deathly important, it couldn’t be left as it was. Something had to be done, so our protagonist took a blade and sheared himself away, cutting at half of himself until his blood made an ocean, and pulled the pitiful half-thing to him to sew them together-- to suture them into one, make himself ancillary to bear what burden he could. He took the crushing when it came, let the bile and pus drain into him so the weaker half was strengthened, and the second star rose and ran to catch up with the first.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Is that an acceptable story for you, Roman? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> * </em>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said,” Janus bit out, “is that an acceptable story? Does it fit your <em> strenuous </em>requirements? You certainly sound enthralled, if your eloquent response to my simple question has anything to say about it.”</p><p>“It-- I thought--” Roman made an inarticulate sound. “Was that <em> about </em> anything? What was the point of it? How is that a happy ending?”</p><p>“Do endings have to be happy? Real life doesn’t often follow storyboards, you know.” </p><p>“Does it mean anything, though?” Roman pushed. Janus hated how close he was to being right. <em> Misdirect, Deceit. It’s all you’re good for</em>. “The-- the binary star, all that drivel about <em> incandescence, </em>is that--”</p><p>“Your turn,” Janus snapped. “Unless you’d rather pass?”</p><p>“I,” Roman said, then swallowed audibly. “I think we should check to see if the manticore-chimera’s wandered off yet, actually.”</p><p>Janus’s head wouldn’t stop pounding. Breathing hurt. The murmurs had subsided, but his sight hadn’t returned; in fact, his face felt clammy with heat, hands inclined to shake. He switched them out for a different pair, trying for surreptitious, and said bitterly, “Of course. It’s not like you could have made them <em> controllable </em> or anything.”</p><p>“I’m not inclined to <em> cheat</em>,” Roman said, “and don’t say the sunrise thing counts!” Janus closed his mouth. “They aren’t a problem when I’m alone, obviously. A prince is always up for a battle, and it’s not as if life gives you a choice before it throws an enemy your way-- you made that clear enough in your little story, didn’t you?”</p><p>“I’m flattered you listened so closely,” Janus drawled, but-- “Wait. You can’t seriously mean they sometimes <em> overpower </em> you.”</p><p>“How did you think we <em> got </em> here?”</p><p>“I seem to recall that being <em> my </em> fault,” Janus said sourly, taking a guess. “When you’re alone, though--”</p><p>“I’m used to it, Snakes on a Plane,” Roman snorted. “It’s not as if my role doesn’t come with a fair amount of pain <em> anyway</em>. Fighting these beasts serves to accustom me to it.”</p><p>Something cold lodged in Janus’s breastbone and stuck<em>. </em> “You’re <em> not </em> referring to when Thomas suffers a bruised ego,” he said, doublespeak slipping out before he could stop it. “You <em> can’t </em> be that stupid, to compare it to wounds suffered from, from <em> claws--” </em></p><p>“Funnily enough, bruises can go rather deep,” Roman said, still in that same damnable tone, that tone that said he was irritated and humoring Janus when he should have been-- <em> when he should have-- </em> “To the bone, in many cases. At least a manticore-chimera is an enemy I can <em> fight</em>, instead of some invisible foe beating me to a pulp when I force Thomas into a misstep on stage. Or did you think being the Ego was all fun and games? I’m sorry to tell you this, Deceit, but those of us with <em> important </em> jobs have to deal with <em> downsides</em>.”</p><p>Janus couldn’t speak. He couldn’t see, so he couldn’t dodge the swinging blade, couldn’t close the distance between them and take Roman into his arms and-- and <em> take, </em> couldn’t do the part of his goddamn fucking job that he’d <em> never </em> managed, not since Thomas was in <em> middle school-- </em></p><p>Above them the stone cover of their prison scraped like a weight had come off it. Janus barely heard it over the constant white-noise <em> swish </em>of the swinging blade-- over the muttered nothings that kept flooding his ears, over his own rising horror. </p><p>“Never mind <em> that</em>, the light’s back,” Roman said, still sounding only a little annoyed. “Well, Deceit? Can you climb?”</p><p>“Definitely,” Janus said, but even to his own ears it sounded like a lie; his head was swimming, ground wavering under his feet, and his body felt hot and ill-fitting. Like he <em> was </em>shedding, but with no new skin to take its place. Like he was wearing to nothing. “I don’t-- of course I can. It’s not like I have six arms or anything.”</p><p>“If you insist,” Roman said dubiously. “I’ll just be using my amazing muscularity to push the cover aside. All <em> you </em> have to do is climb.”</p><p>Janus nodded. He heard Roman ascend, telling himself firmly that panicking over the chance of the other Side falling was <em> Virgil’s </em>prerogative, not his, then heard a harsher noise as Roman presumably pushed the barrier aside. “Well, Snakely Whiplash? Are you coming or not?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Janus snapped up at him, then snarled to himself and took out all his arms, feeling along the edge of the rough wall and trying to get his footing between the stone bricks. His arms didn’t want to hold his weight; he dragged himself upwards as fast as he could before they failed, jabbing his fingers into crumbling mortar and gritting his teeth against the pain of extending his arms from his chest. </p><p>“Just a little farther,” he thought he heard Roman say, but his fingers slipped before he could respond. </p><p>A second of freefall--</p><p>And strong hands caught one of his arms, hauling him onto cold stone. The contact set his skin tingling, shivering like bioluminescence on disturbed waves-- here was the Ego and he was Deceit, was Denial, was meant to <em> preserve it-- </em>but Roman’s hands left him, and the intoxicating sensation left with them. Janus almost wanted to cry.</p><p>“Thank you,” Janus said, too winded for sarcasm, and managed to stand. “This <em> definitely </em> feels like the outdoors.”</p><p>“We’re in a dungeon,” Roman explained. “Quite the well-designed one, too. Very aesthetic, if I do say so myself.”</p><p>“I do hope you aren’t prompting me to compliment something I can’t see,” Janus said lightly. </p><p>Roman scoffed. “Whose fault is that? Perhaps you shouldn’t have impersonated Virgil, if you knew you were so close to some kind of <em> molt.” </em></p><p>Impersonated <em> Virgil? </em> What the hell had Janus even been doing? “Perhaps <em> you </em>should take the initiative and help us get out, then, if you’d like to be freed of my company.”</p><p>“Oh, very <em> well.” </em>A hand grabbed Janus’s own. Suddenly he was incredibly glad to be wearing gloves. “Keep up, will you? My enemies could return at any time.”</p><p>His enemies. The enemies he’d made as some sort of twisted mechanism of self-harm, to <em> accustom </em> himself to the pain of his existence. Those enemies, who never should have existed and wouldn’t have if Janus had done his job.</p><p>Janus wanted to throw up, and wasn’t entirely sure it was because of his affliction. </p><p>Roman pulled him through twists and turns, twice yanking him to the side to hide from some foe Janus couldn’t see; Janus lost track of rights and lefts, reduced to stumbling in Creativity’s grasp, until Roman finally stopped and asked, almost tentative, “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Janus said, trying to breathe past his dizziness. His ribs must have been stabbing into his lungs. He hadn’t been coughing blood, though, had he? “I’m-- I don’t think I’m--”</p><p>Janus stumbled. The floor was blessedly cool. He closed his eyes, useless but to alleviate the pounding in his skull, and said, “Roman, can we-- for a moment, if you happen to be amenable-- can we rest?”</p><p>“They’ve been following us,” Roman said, which was something Janus had not, in fact, been aware of. Lovely. “If we halt for too long, they’ll surely catch up-- are you certain that you can’t walk even a little? I suppose I could carry you, though it would slow us down even more--”</p><p>“You could leave me,” Janus mumbled, the best idea he’d had all day. Of course Roman should leave him. Roman was important. He needed to leave. If he refused, Janus would have to insult or manipulate him until he did what was best, and then ride out whatever pain resulted. </p><p>His role as Self-Preservation was clear on <em> that </em> point.</p><p>“I will not,” Roman said in hushed outrage. He dragged Janus to the side instead, creaking open what might have been a door and pulling him inside. “This <em> can’t </em> still be that shedding nonsense. What is it, were you stung? Did any of them hit you? If anyone was going to be poisoned I thought it would be me, considering the unconsciousness and all, but if you’ve been hiding an injury all this time--”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>A number of clues fell into place. </p><p>“I don’t shed,” Janus gritted out. “That was a lie.”</p><p>“A-ha,” Roman hissed, but fell silent as something padded by outside the door. Janus heard the scratch of claws on stone and shuddered. “They’ll be checking each room soon enough. Do you think-- no, we can’t sink out from here-- could you run, if I distracted them? Then again, at the moment you’re very blind, so who knows how well that would go.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, I’d noticed,” Janus hissed. “How long--”</p><p>“Minutes. Possibly <em> a </em>minute, depending. We may both have to die and come back.”</p><p>“And you won’t leave me,” Janus said, wondering. “You <em> know </em> we can’t truly die. Are you that attached to the idea of being the hero?” He pushed, made his tone darker. “It’s not as if I’m going to be <em> grateful</em>.”</p><p>“Shut <em> up</em>,” Roman snapped, a little choked. He was shaking, ever so faintly. Janus remembered <em> a fair amount of pain, serves to accustom me to it-- </em> remembered <em> bruises go bone deep-- </em> and Roman said, “You really think I’d leave you to <em> die?” </em></p><p>“I know you hate me,” Janus spat, and <em> God, </em> did it smart, laying one of the greatest hurts of his existence out like that. Roman hated him. The Ego hated him. He told himself he was reconciled to it, but that never did stop him showboating for Creativity’s attention, did it? Not when there was a chance to see him blush. Not even when he made him <em> snarl, </em> instead. “Is it so hard to imagine acting on that hate? You’ve never liked me, Roman, even when Thomas was small. I’ve always been the <em> villain. </em> The perfect scapegoat, convenient because half of the time your accusations were actually <em> true</em>. Do you truly expect me to believe that you care if I experience some temporary discomfort?”</p><p>“I don’t <em> hate </em> you,” Roman choked out. His skin was so warm. That beast was scratching outside the door, that hulking bloody construction that even Roman didn’t remember how to stop, and Roman was letting Janus lean against him, a shield against this malady Janus’s negligence had driven him to create. “And it’s not some, some <em> discomfort</em>, it <em> hurts, </em> it always does, and you’re not-- it’s not <em> meant </em> for you--”</p><p><em> All of it is meant for me, </em> Janus wanted to scream. <em> I made myself that way when I was born, after you all fell apart. Denial to soothe your wounds and leave you joyful again. Denial to smooth away the worst parts of creation. You’ve always been so </em> fragile, <em> how could I have left you to shoulder that burden </em>yourself--</p><p>But Roman had hated him, as soon as he’d realized the rest of what Janus was-- had never realized what Janus <em> was </em> to him, the function meant to protect the Ego, to foster stability, to <em> hold. </em>Janus had too much pride to follow after him, but he’d fall at Thomas’s feet in a heartbeat, and at Roman’s if Thomas drove him away. </p><p>That was the thing about the archetypical evil advisor, unfortunately: they <em> needed </em> kings. </p><p>“Janus,” Roman was saying, more desperate now; there were claws at the door. “I never-- I hated how you manipulated and lied and, and made everything seem wrong but I never, I didn’t want <em> this, </em> I don’t want you <em> tortured--” </em></p><p>“I know you don’t,” Janus assured him, half a lie. “You’ve never been evil, Roman. I know you don’t want me hurt.”</p><p>“But you said--”</p><p>“You’d just made fun of my name,” Janus snapped. “Excuse me for lashing out.” He couldn’t stop the giddy terror rising up in him, though, couldn’t completely keep it from his voice. </p><p>“If I hold them off,” Roman started to say, but the giddiness-- Roman didn’t <em> hate </em> him-- overflowed; Janus felt for his face and pressed their lips together, shuddering at the warmth and how Roman surged to kiss back, at the dazzling brush of skin on skin. </p><p><em> This</em>. This was right. This was the balance restored, the brightness returned, the protector laid at his prince’s feet. </p><p>This was what needed to happen, twenty years too late. </p><p>Roman had never deserved torture. Janus had taken that for himself, selfish thing that he was, and had patched the gaping wound he’d left behind. </p><p>Janus was the one who deserved <em> everything. </em></p><p>“I lied, by the by,” he whispered against Roman’s lips. “I don’t remember how we got here, or when I was poisoned, but I know precisely how it happened. And every word of my story was true.”</p><p>“What?” Roman managed when Janus pulled away. “Dec-- Janus, <em> what--” </em></p><p>Easy, so easy to pull Roman’s face over his own. To pull the essence of him over <em> Deceit </em> like a sealskin, to trick the constructs’ taxidermied eyes into following the wrong target. Janus knew where the door was. He knew where the chimeras were. He knew-- or rather, could make an educated guess-- that they were only programmed to go after <em> one.  </em></p><p>“For the love of Thomas, Roman,” Janus scoffed, forcing himself not to shake. “Let me do <em>my</em> <em>job.”</em></p><p>Even easier, to step outside the room. </p><p>He didn’t even have time for fear.</p><p>*</p><p>Someone was screaming, and Janus wasn’t sure it was him. There had been claws through his chest-- he remembered that much-- and running, and walls to follow by feel, but the beasts were persistent, and they enjoyed a chase. </p><p>They had let him go, after the initial hurt. Janus had fled, because the Ego-- because Creativity, because <em> Roman-- </em>needed more time to get out, but they had caught him again, naturally. Flight was rather difficult when you were both newly blind and newly injured. Some might even call it impossible. </p><p>Janus couldn’t focus on anything but keeping Roman’s face. </p><p>Curling to cover his weak points was the next best option, but it didn’t protect him from claw nor fang; he <em> felt </em> the sharp points dig into his chest, drawing more blood to stain Roman’s white clothes, and couldn’t hold back his screams. He’d <em> never </em> been this hurt, even with Remus at his most unpredictable. He’d never been pinned down like a piece of vermin, never cried out as monsters slavered over him and followed their programming to the letter.</p><p>The manticore-chimeras growled and snarled at each other as they worked him over. Janus could only assume they were designed not to outright kill so that Roman wouldn’t always be conspicuously absent, because they seemed intent on dragging things out. </p><p>It was all he deserved, really-- all the pain he should have stolen from Roman for years and years, paid back in a stretch of agony too elongated to follow. But Roman had had this happen before, over and over, whenever he didn’t meet his own standards of heroism-- Roman had <em> let this happen-- </em></p><p>So <em> much </em> screaming. He recognized it distantly, function pulling him so far back in his head that all there was left was animal reaction, nerve clusters firing, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. </p><p>He supposed he should be thankful he was still blind. If he’d had to see all of this, he would probably have ended up with nightmares.</p><p>The weight came off his chest. Janus took the chance to lay there panting and wonder at the amount of blood in the human body. </p><p>His disguise slipped away. </p><p>Someone was crying. This time he was nearly certain it wasn’t him, because they were begging, too, and that was not at all his style. “-- <em> involved! </em> You aren’t meant to do this, this isn’t the point of you, get <em> away </em>before I make you--”</p><p>No. Janus tried to sit up, to re-attract the monsters’ attention, but Roman kept going like the idiot he was. He could feel the constructs shift, hot breath huffing over his face, but he couldn’t muster the strength to reach out. </p><p><em> Shut up, you utter moron, you were supposed to leave! </em> But now they were going to go after him, perhaps kill him, and Janus didn’t care that he was used to it because it wasn’t <em> healthy</em>, it was terrible and his fault and the least he could do was <em> make up for it-- </em></p><p>“You’re not real,” Roman was saying, softer, breathless like he’d been running a race and was in sight of the end. “I <b>made</b> you. I <b>created</b> you. You’re not doing your job.”</p><p>The floor beneath Janus was wet and warm with blood. He felt it pulse, twist like an impossibly solid whirlpool, catch at one side and tilt like a board on an imbalanced axis. The world <em> flickered, </em> gear-grind dreamspace overlapping the blackness behind Janus’s eyes, and jerked like an old man hacking out his lungs, and toppled over, juddered, <em> fell-- </em></p><p>And there was darkness, but for Roman cradling Janus in his arms. His eyes were red and overflowing with tears, face puffy and scraped-up; his white clothes were torn and bloodstained, crimson under his fingernails and grime on his sleeves. Janus reached, because if he was close enough to touch he had to take what pain he could, because Roman wouldn’t let him <em> near </em> otherwise-- but Roman caught his hand and shook his head, tears turning the corner of his jaw. </p><p>“I can fix this,” he insisted, but Janus could taste how little he believed it. “I can, Janus, I’ll figure it out, I swear it.”</p><p>“Try breaking my neck so I’ll come <em>back</em>,” Janus croaked, struggling to speak past the pain. The thought of actually dying held no pleasure-- he’d only been fatally hurt once before, and back then he’d been gone for a month and weak for days after, so who knew what <em>this </em>death would entail-- but, well, needs must. He didn’t look at his ravaged chest, too practiced in denial; instead, he focused on the nothing around them and guessed, “You crashed the Imagination.”</p><p>“I didn’t know that could happen,” Roman said weakly. “I should have tried it sooner. I’m so <em> sorry </em> I didn’t do it sooner.”</p><p>Blood bubbled in Janus’s throat when he laughed. “I’ll be back in a few weeks either way. Is it really worth fretting over like this?”</p><p>“It always hurts,” Roman said. Janus struggled to catch his breath. Tears dripped down his face, too, inexorable. “I try to avoid it, actually, though sometimes I’m simply not fast enough--”</p><p>“If you want to make it up to me, don’t make it a question of <em> fast enough </em> at all,” Janus snarled. “You should definitely think of this self-flagellation as <em> healthy</em>.” His heart was fluttering in his chest. Not enough blood to keep it circulating, and more lost every second even with Roman applying pressure. What did Janus have, a few moments at most? “You--” He coughed. “You weren’t even meant to keep the bruises<em>. </em> You asked if my story was true, didn’t you? Hadn’t I just told you that liars aren’t creative?”</p><p>Roman froze. </p><p>“What happened before we woke up?” </p><p>“You were Virgil. We were just talking, but I found out it was you, and we’d gone into the wrong area-- they hit me first, I think. I could have sworn I was stung.”</p><p>“You likely were,” Janus forced out. Roman stared at him, aghast. “<em>Don’t </em> try and connect the dots.”</p><p>“You don’t mean to say you <em> took the injuries</em>,” Roman choked. “You-- that doesn’t make sense, you don’t even-- this <em> whole time? </em> Why didn’t you <em> tell me?” </em></p><p>“Sometimes I was close enough that I didn’t have to,” Janus managed, “and be honest, Roman. Would you have believed me? That’s the downside of <em> my </em> job, being Denial: no one cares to know when I’m telling the <em> truth</em>. And I was hardly about to beg.” Not when he hadn’t realized things were so bad-- when he hadn’t known how Roman had resorted to coping with suffering the unpredictable beatings in Janus’s place.</p><p>“It’s always been my job to protect you,” Janus said. “To push for Thomas’s hopes and dreams, for his <em> ambitions-- </em> that’s <em> you</em>, you moron. It’s always been you. I’m supposed to take whatever hurts.”</p><p>“But that <em> can’t </em> be it,” Roman snapped, and Janus’s surprised flinch tore a gasp from his throat. “Deceit. <em> Janus</em>, hear me when I say this, that <em> cannot </em> be it. That’s too one-sided. It’s not a happy ending. A <em> lifetime </em> of borrowed pain?”</p><p>“Pot, kettle,” Janus forced out. Blood welled up in his mouth. </p><p>“It <em> can’t </em> be,” Roman repeated, desperate. “Janus, why does it work? For Thomas, I mean. Why is it an option? Denial, for the sake of-- of soothing <em> me, </em> what does that <em> do?” </em></p><p>“<em>Helps </em> you,” Janus snapped, because what else <em> was </em> there? “Roman, <em> please--”  </em></p><p><em> Please kill me, </em>he meant to say, but Roman put a hand on his chest and he screamed instead, arching away from the touch. </p><p>His sight whited out with agony--</p><p>And the pain morphed into chilled nothingness, numbness without sharp edges. Janus’s scream evaporated into a whimper.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Roman gasped, soft and choked with tears and relief. “Oh. Janus, would you close your eyes?”</p><p>Impossible not to. Janus shut them, waiting for more pain, but it didn’t come. The velvet numbness expanded, novocaine-sweet. His body relaxed without permission, going limp and relieved in Roman’s arms. </p><p>“There,” Roman managed. “Is that better?”</p><p>“No,” Janus said, confused, and tried to sit up; his head still swam, but the skin beneath his ruined clothes was whole and hale, unblemished even by scars. His blood went cold. “What did you <em> do?” </em> If the idiot had found a way to take the injuries <em> back-- </em></p><p>“Followed a hunch, I suppose,” Roman whispered. “I thought-- Thomas wants things to be fair.<em> I </em> want things to be fair. So, to force you to carry everything-- if, if something is constantly denied and never <em> processed--” </em></p><p>“You healed me,” Janus said weakly, wondering. “I knew that was an option.”</p><p>“If we’re meant to be metaphorically sewn together in a gruesome and dramatic fashion, I thought it should at least go both ways,” Roman said, and Janus snorted helplessly. “That is what you meant by that, isn’t it? Was I really so pitiful?”</p><p>“I’m not sure I remember,” Janus admitted. “You must have been, if I was so intent on fixing it.”</p><p>“Right,” Roman said, ragged. He paused. “Remus is going to be <em> pissed.” </em></p><p>“He won’t ever forgive you,” Janus promised, and laid back against the cool nothingness. </p><p>For a few moments, they just breathed.</p><p>“Do you suppose you should go back? I can’t imagine Patton hasn’t missed you.”</p><p>“You as well,” Roman said, to Janus’s surprise. “You’re friends now, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you be returning with me?”</p><p>The thought alone was exhausting. “Thomas is asleep,” Janus said. “I’m not needed at this moment, really. And no one <em> else </em>will be inclined to look.” He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and tried, “Do you think Thomas will be needing Imagination soon? One that isn’t filled with nightmare beasts for bizarre self-conditioning?”</p><p>“It’s likely,” Roman admitted. “The one I had was quite a lot of work. I… don’t know how I’ll replace it, now that I think of it. It seems I’ve been put even further behind.” He paled. “Not that I regret saving you! No, that was very heroic, and I’m--” He flushed. “Well. I’m certainly glad you’re no longer bleeding to death.”</p><p>“And that I kissed you?” Janus asked, half-curious. Roman’s flush deepened. Something in Janus’s chest, long-desiccated with hopelessness, leaped for joy. “You know, I <em> am </em> slightly more creative than the average liar, and it <em> was, </em>from one point of view, my fault that the place crashed in the first place. If you wouldn’t mind some company--”</p><p>“Only if you wouldn’t,” Roman blurted. “You just almost <em> died</em>, and we spent the entire time arguing, of course I’d understand if you’d love to rest--”</p><p>“Is that a no?” Janus asked, heart clenching, and Roman shook his head.</p><p>“Of course not. Only-- a statement of non-obligation, I suppose. You don’t <em> have </em>to stay.”</p><p>“Consider it penance,” Janus said, and Roman jerked his head up. “Mine or yours, it <em> definitely </em> matters, but-- there’s a great deal of time to make up for, between the two of us. Nearly two decades. Deep in my heart of hearts, where my single shred of goodness resides, I think I’d like to start making it up now.”</p><p>Roman’s blush colored his cheeks pink, expression horribly vulnerable. “I’m sure the others won’t miss us for a few more days.” </p><p>He took Janus’s hand. The world lit up again in starburst colors, fizzling under Janus’s skin to the core of him, and his purpose <em> sang, </em>the circuit finally complete.</p><p>Janus sagged into him and breathed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: self-harm through giant monsters, temporary blindness, non-visual hallucinations, captivity, non-graphic torture (I know, I'm surprised too), self-sacrifice, implied past metaphysical self-mutilation, bruises, being held prisoner</p></blockquote></div></div>
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